like poison, let it seep from my veins
by particularly good finder
Summary: The boy with the blade and the boy with the flame, both very scared and both in pain. A father in a white bed and a mother with a cure, a family's coming together, unbroken and pure. -During Grilled Cheesus-


**So...I guess I'm just in a bad mood because I have to go to school tomorrow...and my anxiety's been acting up lately...so this was spawned. I'm sorry. **

**Please review...as depressing as this story is.**

* * *

Kurt Hummel wanted to die.

He couldn't take all the pain anymore. He'd watched his own mother deteriorate into nothingness beneath white hospital sheets when he was eight. He'd taken beatings and bullying and being treated like a social pariah since he was twelve. And now he had to watch his father, the strongest man he knew, fall into a coma. His last lifeline, the one stable constant in his life – dying.

The house was quiet, empty. Cold. Kurt shivered, and vaguely wondered if he had left a window open when he left that morning. But he knew that wasn't the case. He shivered again, and headed down to his bedroom.

A sob bubbled from his chest as he reached the landing, but no tears came. The tears stopped hours ago.

His chest ached as he trudged to his desk, throwing his jacket to the floor. His limbs felt heavy and ached as he moved. His throat was raw, his neck ached, and his eyes itched, and it took all he had to not to collapse onto the floor. Kurt gripped the desk with both hands, legs trembling violently.

His fingers tingled, and his arms ached badly. Images flashed through his mind – his father, his mother, the bullies at school, Finn, the boy who rejected his love…

His body convulsed, and Kurt fell against the desk, heaving dry, painful sobs. The pain in his chest, his arms was too much, so _sofucking_ much. Before he could comprehend his own actions, the smooth wood surface of his desk was crashing into his forehead, over and over again. Kurt slipped back, splitting his eyebrow on the corner. As warm blood trickled down his jaw line, he sighed, relaxing a little. There was a sot of release with the real, hard, physical pain in his head.

Standing up carefully, the gaunt-looking boy grabbed a pair of scissors, and walked to the bathroom with determination. Before tonight, Kurt Hummel looked down on the self-abusive and suicidal. Death was for the weak. Scars were for attention-whores.

But now…he wanted to die. He wanted escape. Kurt Hummel wanted to bleed himself dry.

Slumping to the ground by his sink, he opened the scissors, and lightly dragged one blade across is skin, testing it. A white line glowed on his pale skin, stinging in a wonderful way. Biting his lip, Kurt repeated the action, pressing harder.

Beads of blood appeared beneath the blade, a white-hot pain shooting up his arm. He bit his lip harder, gasping. It was like with every cut, his trauma seeped out with his blood.

Kurt made another cut, below the first one, digging even deeper. It wasn't until blood touched his tongue did he realize he had bit his lip open. It tasted wonderful, intoxicating almost, and so disgusting he wanted to throw up.

The stinging in his arm was overwhelming, and a cold sweat broke out on Kurt's forehead. He had never dealt with blood well, but this release…it was worth it. He would do anything to erase his worries, his fears.

Kurt made one more cut before dropping the scissors. The scent of blood was making him dizzy, so he just closed his eyes and let the throbbing in his arm take him away from the world.

* * *

Finn Hudson didn't want to die.

Ever since his talk with Ms. Pillsbury, Finn had been scared. After he realized he didn't have a special link to God, he started wondering if there even _was_ a God.

A shudder went down his spine as his faith faltered once again. Sure, he had never been too religious, but to lose it altogether?

Finn tossed in his bed, heart racing. Death terrified him now. Without his certainty in Heaven and God, Finn felt his courage and confidence seep away, until he was reduced to a whimpering child curled under his covers.

Death: the end to all ends. Finn had no idea how Tina could be so fascinated with it. Every time he thought of it (which was _very_ often these days), a spasm of terror would clench his muscles, wearing him down until he couldn't stand on his own.

But no sleep would come to him, as tired as the anxiety made him. Honestly, he hadn't slept a wink since Burt's heart attack, and he knew both Kurt and his mom hadn't either. He turned over again, trying to find a comfortable spot.

Death. Nothingness. The end. No more life. No more Mom. No more football. No more glee club. No more friends. No more fun. Gone. Everything gone. No thinking. No breathing.

Death.

_Death_.

Death.

Finn shot up, screaming into his fist. He bit down on his knuckles, his chest convulsing with sobs. The taste of blood filled his mouth, but he didn't stop biting, stop screaming. He wouldn't stop shaking, stop shivering. He fell out of his bed, hitting the ground painfully.

Burying his head in his hands, Finn pulled his knees to his chest and cried. Fear had paralyzed him, shaken him to his core, and all he wanted was to believe again. He had stolen his mom's bible from her room when she took a shower, hoping the book would bring him comfort like it did for Quinn, but it was just words and paper. The timeworn pages held no consolation for him.

Finn tried to take deep breaths, and for a moment it worked, but soon he was gasping again, raking his nails across his face in terror. The pain was nice; it was a distraction, a reminder of his existence. He was not dead. He had a life to live.

Grasping at his bedside table, his fingers met the lighter he found in the park earlier that day. It was neat, all gold and engraved with pretty patterns; he had thought Kurt would like it, but Kurt refused to talk to Finn at the hospital that night. Finn pulled the lighter down, flicking at it until a flame appeared.

He had always been a bit of a pyromaniac; fire was just so _pretty_. But now, this was different, and as much as he needed the pain, the distraction, Finn was scared. This is what depressed people did – hurt themselves, burn themselves. Finn Hudson was not depressed.

But he needed this. He needed to feel the flame on his skin. Bringing the lighter to his arm, he winced as the fire licked his skin, leaving behind its red kisses. He pulled away at first, but, gritting his teeth, brought it back, letting his mind melt away as the pain intensified. It was getting cold out; Finn could hide the burns easily. His mom would never have to know.

Leaning his head back against his bedside table, Finn burned pretty patterns into his arm, pretending the screams in his throat were from the pain, not his fear.

* * *

Kurt's dad had been in the hospital for less than a week when Finn got caught. He had been careless, had let his anxiety show through at dinner. He thought he could play it off as pure grief for Burt (he didn't have to lie about that), but Carole Hudson was sharper than her son. When he thought she had gone to bed, he pulled out the pretty little lighter and rolled back his sleeves, ready to paint on the flames, when his mom opened the door.

There was no screaming. No accusations, no questions. Her red eyes showed she had been crying earlier, but she remained calm as she pulled her son towards her, throwing the lighter into a corner. She let him cry and shake and scream into her shoulder, no questions, no scolding.

When he calmed down a bit, she led him to her room and sat him down on her bed. Rummaging through a cabinet, she pulled out some ointment and a roll of bandages. As she applied the ointment, she spoke softly.

"Your father suffered from severe anxiety, you know. I always assumed it came from watching men die in war, but…maybe it just takes a little loss of religion to push someone over that edge."

Finn gaped at his mother. How had she known?

"Ms. Pillsbury called me. Said she was worried about you, mentioned your confusion. I assumed from the bible missing from my room that you were losing faith." Finn hung his head, feeling ashamed. His mother was never supposed to know. Carole smiled sadly. "Honey, I know it's hard. But we'll get through this. Burt will get better, and Kurt will be happy again, and our little family will come together. You see, sweetie, you don't need religion. _I_ need my bible to read at night, _I_ need my daily prayers, my talks with your father, my hope that I'll see him again. My love for Jesus Christ gives me hope; it's something for me to hold on to. But you…I know it can be hard to suddenly be god-less. You need _something_ to hold on to, something more than yourself. You'll see, sweetie, that _family_ will be that thing for you to hold on to. You and me, and Burt and Kurt…we'll be something sacred."

Finn stared at the wall, taking in his mother's wise words. It was not hard to see how two different men had fallen in love with this woman; she was so smart, so…understanding.

Clearing the lump from his throat, Finn buried his head in his mom's shoulder as she wrapped up his arm.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered, voice cracking. She ran a finger across his cheek, eyes watering.

"I love you, too, Baby."

That night, Finn slept in his mom's bed, resting without being plagued by nightmares for the first time in a week.

* * *

His dad had been in the hospital for a week when Kurt got caught. He had to know it would happen sooner or later, but Finn Hudson was not the person he expected to find him like this.

The doctor had no good news for Kurt that night in the hospital. No signs of recovery any time soon, no improvements, nothing. That, topped with his friends' insensitivities to his atheism and their anger when Sue reported them on his behalf, just send him over the edge. He needed to forget; he needed the pain in his chest to go away.

So, in his hurry, Kurt was sloppy. He didn't bother to lock the bathroom door, he didn't bother to hide the broken mirror – which he had punched when he saw his gaunt, unnerving reflection – or scattered mess of papers from his desk. All he cared about were the scissors and the bloodstained towel in the bathroom.

Leaning against the sink, he pulled the blade swiftly across his arm, gasping in both pain and relief. He let the blood drip into the sink, supporting him weight with his other arm as the smell made him dizzy.

A crash came from the doorway. The smaller boy turned to see Finn standing there, a wrapped pan of casserole at his feet. "Kurt, you're bleeding!" He exclaimed, pointed at his arm.

"No shit, Sherlock," Kurt snarled, turning back to his arm. _Maybe if I close my eyes, he'll disappear._

Finn noticed the scissors. "Kurt…are you…a cutter?"

The gaunt boy huffed; his almost-stepbrother had not disappeared. "Yes, Finn. Now go away."

Finn didn't leave. Instead, he pulled the scissors from Kurt's hand and threw them across the room, as his mom did with his lighter.

"Finn, this is none of your business," Kurt hissed as the taller boy grabbed the bloody towel, pressing it to his wrist. "Finn, if you don't leave right now-"

"You need a family right now," Finn whispered, applying pressure to the cut. "You need me and Mom. Come live with us until your dad wakes up."

"_If_." Kurt pulled his arm away, wincing. "_If_ he wakes up, Finn."

Finn sighed, and pushed Kurt into his bedroom, sitting him down onto his bed. "_When_. And until then, you're coming to live with us. I can't believe you've been here by yourself for a week. I thought you were staying with Mercedes."

Kurt scoffed. "And have her _pray_ at me every waking moment? I'd rather live on the streets."

Finn frowned. "Kurt…this is what I mean. You need to come be a part of our family; it'll be good for you."

The smaller boy sighed. "I'm fine, Finn. I can take care of myself."

Finn groaned in frustration. "I know, Kurt. I know. But you shouldn't have to."

Kurt looked up to see Finn's shining eyes. The taller boy rubbed his shoulder, leaning in a bit closer. Kurt bit his lip. "I just…everything is so _painful_, Finn. I can't…I can't _deal_ with this. Not by myself."

Finn hugged the boy, pressing their cheeks together. "That's what I'm saying. You're _not alone_, Kurt." Slowly, as he pulled away, Finn unwrapped one of his bandages, showing Kurt the meticulous patterns burned into his skin. The boy gasped.

"I get it, Kurt. I totally _get it_. But my mom saw me, she stopped me. And she told me that…that I need family. I need our family. And so do you. And what I realized is…we need each other, Kurt. You and me, we get it. We get each other. And we can be there for each other."

Kurt sniffled, looking away. "That sounds…nice."

Finn grinned, pulling the boy up. "Come on, let's get going."

* * *

Finn steered Kurt upstairs, sitting him down on his own bed. He pulled out a pair of small sweats and a t-shirt for the boy to change in to, then he left to go find his mom's bandages. When he came back, Kurt was dressed and scratching at his face, lips trembling.

Wrapping up his almost-stepbrother's arm, Finn pulled back his covers, pushing Kurt into his bed. He tucked the gaunt boy in, smiling sadly.

After he changed and brushed his teeth, Finn slipped back into the room. His mom was already asleep, according to the light snoring coming from her room, and by the looks of it, Kurt was close as well. Careful not to shake him, Finn climbed into the bed, nestling up behind him.

"Finn…?" Kurt's sleepy voice asked weakly. Finn hummed in response.

"Mhmm?"

Kurt turned over, resting his cheek against Finn's chest. "Do you really think Dad'll be okay?"

Finn nodded, resting his chin on Kurt's head. "Yeah, I do. I know you don't want it, but Mom's been praying. Real hard. But not just for your dad. For you, too. She's been worried sick about you."

Kurt sighed. "Your mom is the sweetest lady alive, you know that?"

Finn chuckled a little. "I couldn't have asked for a better mom."

A silence filled the room, and Finn realized Kurt was asleep. Just like that, the boy who had looked like the living dead for a week was out, nestled warmly in Finn's arms.

"Goodnight, brother," Finn whispered, kissing the top of his head. He sighed, letting the scent of his new family lull him to sleep.

Two days later, Burt Hummel would wake up. Three weeks later, the Hudson-Hummel family would be united in matrimony. And for the rest of their lives, Finn and Kurt would understand each other better than anyone else.


End file.
